


A Little Light Gets Through

by lastkid



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-04 23:18:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15157586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastkid/pseuds/lastkid
Summary: And all the trouble went awayAnd it wasn't just a dreamAll the trouble went awayAnd it wasn't just a dream--Kite Song, Patty GriffinPost 6x03 Fridget fic.





	A Little Light Gets Through

In the end, there is blinding, nauseating pain; so much blood Franky doesn't know how she makes it through a phone call she never wanted to make; Bridget out of place in a service station bathroom.

 

In the end, there is a ride in the backseat of a car Bridget shouldn't be driving; a boxcar Bridget shouldn't be in; an argument about doctors and hospitals they shouldn't be having; Bridget holding her until she falls into a restless sleep.

 

In the end, there is Bridget cleaning the blood from her hands, joking about prison, reminiscing about falling in love not so long ago; Bridget promising they're together, no matter what.

 

In the end, there is Bridget finding the final piece of the puzzle; Bridget declaring herself past the line to Vera; Bridget saving Franky by not choosing.

 

In the end, there is a hospital room and handcuffs; charges dropped; Bridget holding her hand and wiping her tears.

 

In the end, there are her friends in the visitor's room; Bridget and Vera watching her goodbyes; Liz realizing why Ms. Westfall is there, pulling her aside to quietly welcome her into the family.

 

In the end, there is no more parole, no more wasted money on a fake bedsit; two cars in the carport; her home.

 

In the end, there is Bridget.

 

\--

 

"Oh, fuck," Franky grimaces as she turns the key and opens their front door, holding it high with her left hand to let Bridget pass through ahead of her. "Gidge, can you grab me an ice pack? Reckon I overdid it today."

 

"I warned you that would happen," Bridget calls over her shoulder, and heads right into the kitchen. She drops her purse on the counter, watches Franky pass her and slouch onto the couch. "Trevor hasn't cleared you to lift anything that heavy."

 

Franky rolls her eyes at the mention of their physiotherapist. "Fucking Trevor's never has Tess launching herself at him, has he?" She struggles out of her jacket as her shoulder tightens, flinging it behind her in frustration.  She's so goddamned tired of her injury interrupting her happy ending.

 

" _Fucking Trevor_ is just looking out for you, baby." A rattle as Bridget rummages through the freezer for a fully frozen ice pack. "As am I. As is Alan. I thought you were going to tell him you can't pick Tess up right now."

 

"I did. He did. You try controlling a four year old. It's fucking amazing she showed up with matching shoes, from what Dad told me." Franky's eyes light up at the sight of the towel-wrapped ice pack and the two pain tablets in Bridget's hands. "Thanks, Gidge."

 

"Must be a Doyle trait," Bridget says lightly, placing the ice pack over Franky's shoulder, then taking her place beside her, "not listening to sound, reasonable, advice."

 

Franky swallows the pills dry. "I listen." Bridget raises a skeptical eyebrow. "Mostly," Franky amends.   "More now than I did before, eh? I mean, fuck, Trevor's a dickhead and I still listen to him."

 

"You listen to Trevor because he's excellent and you're tired of being a lefty," Bridget points out. "And because I asked you to."

 

"Exactly!" An evil little grin flashes over her face. "I know who's top dog around here." She laughs at Bridget rolling her eyes. "Besides, wasn't it just last night you said I was getting better with my left hand?" She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

 

Bridget groans. "I was talking about your handwriting, Franky." She winces suddenly, shifting away slightly.

 

"Hey, you okay?"

 

Bridget grabs a pillow beside her and puts it on the coffee table, stretching her leg out onto it. "Might have overdone it a bit, too. Nothing a long soak in a hot bath won't fix." She looks at her foot and Franky's ice-pack-wrapped shoulder, chuckles. "We're quite the pair, aren't we?"

 

Her words bring back an image of their first night back together after Franky got out of hospital: their bed full of pillows in odd places to prop injured limbs, figuring out how to fit themselves together without hurting each other, just to sleep. Bridget breaking into laughter over the absurdity that they'd managed to cuddle better in a boxcar than in their own bed.

 

"We sure are," Franky says affectionately. "You want a foot rub later, you just let me know. Pretty sure Trevor would approve."

 

"I don't really care if he doesn't." Bridget reaches up and strokes Franky's cheek. "Thanks, baby."

 

"Any time," Franky smiles. "You're right, though. I am sick of being a lefty. Gotta get this fucking thing healed. I've got plans."

 

Bridget furrows her brow. "Plans?"

 

"Yeah, check it out." Franky pushes up a little and pulls a napkin from her back pocket, unfolds it, spreads it on the coffee table. "What do you think?"

 

A hasty, awkwardly wrong-handed sketch of a kite, the string wrapped around railroad tracks, inks the napkin.

 

Bridget looks at it, looks back at Franky, raises a hand to her cheek in contemplation. "Is this a new tattoo?"

 

Franky nods, eyes bright with excitement. "Yep. Came to me when we were at the park earlier. It's gonna be fucking awesome, Gidge. Not sure about the colors yet, but I've got time to think about it."

 

"I get the kite, baby, but the tracks?"

 

"Fucking boxcar won't fit." Franky shrugs, as best she can without moving the ice. "I've got the scars from getting shot; this is the best way to incorporate it into the tat. Or the tattoo into the scarring. Whatever. Have to see what it looks like when my shoulder's healed."

 

"You're putting this over your scar?"

 

"Of course!"  Franky frowns.  "I'm not leaving it just sitting there as is for the rest of my life. Fucking boring, for a start." She gestures at where she was shot. "Got to commemorate all this somehow."

 

Bridget chews the flesh around her thumbnail, hums. She glances from Franky to the drawing and back again, and tosses her head, chuffs in mock exasperation. "Guess I shouldn't be surprised; you always make something beautiful out of the worst parts of your life."

 

"Damn straight," Franky says softly, taking Bridget's hand. "This should have been the worst thing that happened to me. All I had was hope that I wasn't as fucked as I thought I was, so I fucking hoped like I've never let myself hope before."

 

She smiles, as full of all the love she feels, matching that same smile forming on Bridget's beautiful face. "And then you came and saved me. Again."  

 

"Mmm," Bridget demurs. "You finally asked for help, honey."

 

"Technicality," Franky waves dismissively. "You were willing to help me do something crazy for the chance for us to be free. That's hope in my book."

 

"I think I went off the deep end a bit, to be honest," Bridget says through a chuckle.

 

"I'm glad you did." Franky picks up the napkin. "I want to keep that feeling close. I don't want to look at my scar without thinking about why we got out of it." She waits a beat, breaks into a cheeky grin. "I know it's rough as shit now, but it's going to look pretty fucking cool."

 

"I don't doubt it." Bridget takes the napkin from her, considers the drawing. "When do you think you'll do it?"

 

"Haven't had enough of seeing me in pain, hey?"

 

"As a matter of fact, I have, but I'm not letting anyone else hold your hand." Bridget gives her that soft sweet smile Franky prays she never gets used to, leans forward, resting her head on Franky's.

 

"If you're not cool with it, Gidge, you don't have to come. It's just a tattoo. I'm tough," Franky whispers into the narrow space between them.

 

"I know you are," Bridget murmurs back. "I love your resilience; always have. I'll just be there if you don't feel like being tough."

 

It's nothing Bridget hasn't said to her before, nothing she doesn't know Bridget feels, and yet it still surprises her that someone she loves this much loves her back.  Overwhelmed by the sudden flood of affection flowing through her, Franky dips her head to give Bridget a gentle kiss. "You have any idea the hold you have on me?"

 

"If it's anything like the hold you have on me, yeah, I do."

 

Bridget sits up a bit, taking her leg off the table so she can draw Franky to her, careful of the ice pack and her sore shoulder. Franky cuddles in tight, head on Bridget's shoulder, wrapping her left arm around Bridget's waist. "Love you," she croons into Bridget's neck. "Thanks for hoping with me."

 

"Always."

 

\--

 

In the end, the artist inking Franky has to hide her smirk, as Franky insists she's fine but wants Bridget holding her hand anyway.

 

In the end, there is a kite tattoo peeking out under Franky's sleeveless t-shirt when she rolls in to visit Boomer next, when she hugs that asshole Trevor for all his successful work, when she hoists Tess on her hip walking through the park, when she tugs Bridget away from her reading to sway together around the kitchen.

 

In the end, the picture she painted all those months ago comes true, and she gets to dream up more beautiful pictures and watch them come true, too.

 

In the end, there is a future growing more certain by the day; unbelievable happiness; both of them living out the promise Bridget made to her in that boxcar.

 

In the end, there is joy.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is also from Kite Song (which fits 6x03 & Franky/Fridget beautifully and not just because of the obvious metaphor ;) ). I definitely recommend a listen. :) Thanks for reading!


End file.
